In My Darkest Hour
by SocialDegenerate
Summary: Sequel to 'No Control'. The panic attack was just the tip of the iceberg. Stiles' problems go a lot deeper, and Derek upholds his Alpha duty by trying to make things better. But is it really just a sense of responsibility that keeps him going back?
1. Chapter 1

***I actually had most of this written before I even thought up "No Control". Then I realised I couldn't use this one because it was pretty much the same theme. But after that, I decided that with a little re-working, this would be a good sequel to "No Control". And here we are now.

This is not entirely timeline-compliant, but it's basically set around the first part of this fic series (both before and after it).***

* * *

The first time Derek noticed the circles under Stiles' eyes, _really_ noticed them, was while the kanima was running loose. He didn't pay them any attention considering the fact that the kid was not only a hyperactive high schooler, but one with a bad habit of spending his nights getting into shit that humans had no need to be near.

It was Stiles' own fault if he wasn't smart enough to get enough sleep, so Derek just told the kid what he needed researched and promptly bailed from his house, not giving the dark circles another thought.

After that, the tired look seemed to come and go. Sometimes when Derek would see Stiles, he would look perfectly fine; other times, he practically looked like death walking. Derek knew Stiles wasn't sick, because there wasn't a reeking stench of disease or infection surrounding the kid, so he just figured that Stiles' hyperactivity made it hard for him to sleep sometimes.

It would definitely explain why he was usually awake when Derek would climb through his window, whether it was nine in the evening or three in the morning. He still didn't give a shit about the whole thing, because there always seemed to be something more important to worry about than some kid who didn't want to mind his own business.

Stopping the kanima, getting rid of Gerard, the _goddamned_ Alpha Pack: the wellbeing of a human who was only barely a pack member didn't even rate against those.

And then the panic attack happened, and the dark circles stopped going away. Even with no immediate threats on the horizon, and presumably nothing out of the ordinary for Stiles to be worked up about, they got worse each time Derek came across the younger male. Whether he was spending time with the pack, in his room while Derek asked him to look things up, or just in the grocery store at the same time as Derek, Stiles always looked haggard.

Derek knew that the other pack members had noticed, had heard them mention it in passing. The common consensus was that Stiles was just feeling the usual senior year stress, worrying about getting into a decent college while pulling all-nighters to get through major piles of homework. If the other pack members weren't seriously worried, then Derek wasn't about to be concerned. He'd heard Scott promise to talk to Stiles about it anyway, so he figured that would be that.

Of course, it wasn't. Nothing would ever be that simple in Derek Hale's life.

It was a Saturday afternoon when Stiles dropped by the abandoned depot, looking for Scott. Erica had smirked, told the kid that he would always be second best when Allison was around and smelling like sexual frustration, and had immediately shooed him off. Derek walked past Stiles as he was leaving, and from a distance it looked like the kid had finally pulled himself together.

It was only when Derek got a bit closer that he saw the makeup under Stiles' eyes. A human probably wouldn't have noticed it, and maybe even his betas had missed it, but his enhanced eyesight meant that it was obvious to Derek. Obviously, Scott hadn't managed to pull his best friend into line.

Sadly, that made it Derek's problem now. Stiles had somehow managed to worm his way up into full pack member status, though he was still beneath the werewolves, and so it was Derek's reluctant obligation as Alpha to make sure that everyone in his pack was okay.

It was late- early morning, really- when Derek managed to steel himself enough to actually check on his annoying human pack member. He took his time getting there, previous experience telling him that Stiles would most likely still be awake; but when he got close enough to the Stilinski household, he had to force himself not to shift.

The only thing he could smell was fear. His pack member's scent was practically dripping with it, and every Alpha instinct Derek had was telling him to get there as quickly as possible.

The sound of the kid's racing heartbeat made Derek's head pound with every frantic thud. It was very similar to the night in the grocery store parking lot, except there were some subtle differences that told him that Stiles wasn't exactly having another panic attack.

It still seemed like a serious issue, though. Beneath his pack-driven worry for Stiles, he could tell that there was no one else in the room. Considering the time of day, Derek could only assume that the kid was actually asleep for once, and that he was having an absolute shocker of a nightmare.

He broke into a run, fighting to stay in his fully-human form, before vaulting up and through Stiles' open window without even checking if the Sheriff was home. Derek knew from personal experience that there were very few things in the world that were worse than what the mind could come up with at night. He'd been there himself, years ago, when his mind would replay the sounds, sights and smells of his entire family dying at the hands of Kate Argent. They had faded away after a while, only to return at full strength when Laura had been torn into two fucking pieces.

Derek had truly hated Stiles for disturbing his sister's body, but none of that mattered now. He was part of Derek's pack, and unlike the majority of the betas, Stiles didn't have anyone to help him through the dark times. Derek had no choice but to follow his instincts, and they were screaming at him to help the kid once again.

Stiles was drenched in sweat, his body jerking and pitiful whimpers spilling out of his mouth. Derek _really_ didn't want to know what he was dreaming about, but it was no surprise that the kid looked practically dead if this was happening on a regular basis.

Even though Stiles was completely human, it almost seemed like he could feel Derek's presence in the room as his whimpering quieted slightly. The werewolf wasn't sure if it was some part of Stiles' subconscious mind reacting to his Alpha, or if Stiles somehow knew that a non-threat was watching over him, but he found himself more willing to help the young pack member.

Moving quietly to the bed, Derek only hesitated momentarily before gently resting his palm on Stiles' head, fingers lightly rubbing across the spiked fuzz there. It was what he'd seen his mother do for the younger members of his family many years back, and it seemed to have the same effect on the teenager that he remembered it having for the pack children.

Stiles didn't wake up, but he quieted and stilled, curling up on his side as his fear receded and his sleep became peaceful. Just like after the panic attack, Derek didn't leave the moment Stiles was back to normal: pulling back, he took a seat at the desk, spending a fair time making sure that the nightmares weren't going to immediately return.

Eventually, when he was sure that Stiles would most likely get a decent rest for the next few hours, Derek slipped out the window.

Stiles never even knew he was there.

* * *

The next day, Derek cornered Scott in his own room, glaring darkly at the teenager.

"I thought you spoke to Stiles about his exhaustion."

Scott tilted his head to the side, obviously confused. "He told me he was fine! And he's been looking almost totally normal lately…well, as normal as he'll ever be, I guess."

Huffing out an irritated sigh, Derek pinned the beta with an expression that perfectly conveyed his thoughts, which were something along the lines of, '_Are you fucking kidding me?'_

"Nightmares. A panic attack. He's been wearing _makeup_ to hide the dark circles."

Eyes widening almost comically, Scott shrank back against the wall Derek had him pushed up to. "He never told me about any of that…wait, if he didn't tell me, why did he tell _you?_ No offence, but you're not the easiest person to talk to."

Even though he knew that to be perfectly true, Derek growled at the disrespectful statement, enjoying the way Scott tried to make himself even smaller. "Sorry! Sorry, I promise I'll talk to him again. Tomorrow at school, okay? I'll get it sorted."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Why not now?"

A slight blush made its way up Scott's cheeks, and he looked down at his feet, mumbling, "Allison's coming over in fifteen minutes."

The Argent girl. Of _course_ Scott hadn't noticed anything wrong with his best friend: Derek knew better than anyone how all-consuming an Argent could be. He wasn't prepared to sympathise, though, and he slapped Scott across the side of the head with enough force to concuss a human. The younger shifter just yelped in pain, no actual damage taking place.

"Forget it. I'll do it myself." Tapping Scott across the head once more for good measure, Derek took his usual exit out of the window, leaving the beta spluttering in angry confusion.

However, he wasn't planning on actually _talking_ to Stiles. Conversations with him were usually the equivalent of Derek banging his head against a brick wall, all while dosed up on enough wolfsbane to completely stop his elevated healing.

He figured that he would just repeat what he'd done the previous night until he found a better way to keep the nightmares at bay.

* * *

Now that Derek had pointed it out, Scott couldn't unsee the powdery makeup covering the skin beneath Stiles' eyes. He really couldn't figure out how he'd missed it before, because it was now painfully obvious.

By the time Monday's first period was half over, Scott had already made the decision to pay more attention to his best friend. Stiles had been there for him through everything, including several accidental murder attempts, but Scott had been too wrapped up in having Allison back to be there when Stiles needed him.

Firstly, he decided to figure out what was wrong, but to do it, like, subtly. Even though Stiles was his best friend, he didn't particularly want to step on Derek's toes. Dude was _scary_.

He decided to bring it up in history, leaning forward to tap his friend on the shoulder and whisper, "Hey, have you seen Derek lately?"

Stiles didn't react too much, but Scott's hearing made it easy for him to pick up his friend's quiet mumbling. "Not since I was looking for you at the wolf den on Saturday. Didn't talk to him, but his eyebrows were doing that weird evil caterpillar thing at me. Can't tell if they love me or hate me."

Huffing out a quiet laugh, Scott sat back in his chair. He'd figured that Derek would've put whatever grand master plan he had into action by now, given how insistent he'd been.

Alright. He'd give Derek a week at most. If there weren't any improvements, Scott would step in and fix his best friend. If Stiles got worse, though, Scott _definitely_ couldn't be held accountable for his actions.

He didn't particularly want to be the Alpha, but if worst came to worst, he was fully prepared to try and kill Derek for daring to hurt his best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Four days later, Stiles was going to school without concealer on for the first time in weeks. He wasn't quite sure what had changed, but he'd stopped waking up feeling like he hadn't had a wink of sleep.

Although he could still remember flashes of the nightmares he'd been plagued with for months, he seemed to be getting a break from waking up at all hours of the morning and being unable to go back to sleep. He wasn't sure how long the respite would last, though.

He was terrified that things were going to go south at any point, and his nights would once again be interrupted by violent scenes of the horror his life had become. He wasn't coping well, hadn't been for quite a while. He didn't want to talk to anyone about it, though: he didn't want the werewolves thinking he was too weak to keep up with them, and he couldn't tell an outsider without spilling everything about his life and making them think he was crazy.

His life had become a bad routine: crawl out of bed exhausted, do his best to hide the physical effects of his sleeplessness, pop too many Adderalls, fidget through class, run for his life, try unsuccessfully to sleep, rinse and repeat.

When he got home from school that day, though, his routine was suddenly shattered. It was rare for his father to be home on a Friday afternoon, but as Stiles walked through the door he was immediately stopped by the noise of his father clearing his throat.

_That_ didn't bode well.

"Good afternoon, parental unit!" He grinned brightly, trying to crack his dad's serious expression. It didn't work.

"Sit," his dad ordered in his 'I-am-the-law' voice. Stiles swallowed hard.

"What can I do for you?" He gave another bright grin, trying hard to disguise his unease. Stiles wasn't sure what he'd done this time, but it couldn't be good. Had his father somehow found out about the werewolves?

The sheriff fixed his son with an impassive look. "Anything you want to tell me, Stiles?"

"Nothing I can think of," the teenager replied as naturally as he could manage. His father might not have had an inbuilt werewolf lie detector, but years of police work had given him a pretty good knowledge of when someone was lying to him.

"I know you've been spending a lot of time with Derek Hale lately." Oh god, his dad _did_ know about the werewolves.

"He didn't actually murder anyone, remember…" Stiles was stalling now. He had to figure out exactly how much his dad knew, and how much could be explained away.

His dad rolled his eyes, rubbing at a temple. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm _happy_ about the fact that he's been seen climbing in and out of your bedroom window _every night this week_."

"Wait, _what?"_ Stiles' racing thoughts screeched to a halt and he gaped at his father. Derek was never quiet when he stopped by, and so Stiles was _sure _that he'd had no early morning visitors for at least a fortnight.

"I know I didn't believe you when you said you were gay that night at the club, but that doesn't mean you can't _talk_ to me about this kind of stuff. You should know that I'd never hate you for being gay…I just don't think you have very good taste in men."

"Uhhh…" Stiles could only blink at his dad. Well, at least he didn't have to explain the werewolves now.

"Seriously kid, a twenty-four-year-old ex-fugitive? There's gotta be a few boys at your school who'd be better boyfriends."

"I'm not dating Derek. What the hell, dad?" Oh look, his mouth was working again, but all he seemed to be doing was increasing his dad's disbelief. The man was staring at him, obviously waiting for Stiles to defend himself some more.

"Honestly, Derek's _way _too emotionally constipated to be dating anyone. Pretty sure he's forgotten how to be nice to people."

The sheriff cocked an eyebrow. "I notice you didn't say anything about you _not_ being gay."

"No wonder you keep getting re-elected, you've got some serious interrogation skills going on. Top work, daddy-o!"

"I've got instincts, kid, and right now? They're telling me that Hale hasn't been spending nights with you to have tea parties." The man leant back in his chair, but his eyes didn't leave Stiles' face for a second. It was only then that Stiles remembered an important point to bring up.

"Dad, I'm one hundred percent telling the truth when I say that Derek hasn't been in my room at all this week, let alone every single night. He's probably got better things to do than spend his nights skulking around me. Besides, a guy _that_ hot? As if he'd want to be with me."

Taking a second to absorb that, the sheriff's gaze narrowed. "So what you're telling me is that you _are_ gay, and that Derek has been in your room at some point prior to this week?"

One day Stiles was going to have to learn how to do that. He'd never been great at reading between the lines, but his father was a goddamn expert. Stiles was just glad that his exhaustion had subsided a little: he never would have managed to sit through this when he was running on fumes and Adderall.

"Okay, dad, I'm gonna put it all out on the table." Well, at least the parts he figured his dad needed to hear. "I'm pretty sure I'm bisexual, I mean, I was in love with Lydia for…longer than I want to think about. And Derek might have been here once or twice, but he's straight and come on, the guy will probably end up marrying a supermodel."

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you invited Derek Hale into our house…for now," the sheriff said slowly. "But you swear that you haven't been having a week of _sleepovers_, while underage, with a man seven years older than you?"

"God, I _wish_," Stiles exclaimed without thinking. He immediately tried to back peddle, "uh, I mean, Derek's just a friend. He's helped me through some stuff before, but I swear to you and god and anyone else who cares that we've never had any sort of sexual contact. My virginity is fully intact, so you don't have to worry about not getting a good dowry for me."

Heaving out a long-suffering sigh, the man waved his hand at his son. "Get outta here, Stiles. You're off the hook for now, but if I get told _once more_ about Hale climbing in your window, I'm hauling him off for statutory rape."

"I respect your decision and am going to bail off to Scott's now. Let's forget that this conversation ever happened, okay?"

His dad mumbled something in reply, and Stiles took a moment to grab a snack before leaving again. He had no intention of going to Scott's, but he figured that it wouldn't be a good look to tell his dad that he was going to see Derek.

It sounded like he and the Alpha had some stuff to talk about.

* * *

"_Derek!"_

Dropping to the ground from his pull-up bar, Derek pulled his tank top back on. He'd heard Stiles' jeep pull up to the depot, but the kid sounded _pissed_. He really didn't want to have to deal with this right now.

Still, he moved to the main area, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the entrance. It wasn't long before the teenager burst through, anger rolling off him in waves. "What the _fuck_, Derek?"

Not bothering to dignify that with a response, the werewolf just glared harder.

"Have you been going all Edward Cullen on my ass and watching me sleep? Because I just had the _worst_ conversation with my dad, who apparently heard that you've been sneaking into my room every night this week. He thinks we're _dating_ and he was about two seconds away from breaking into a safe sex talk. I don't want to sit through another one of _those_, Derek."

"Why would I do that?" The Alpha wasn't about to admit that he'd been calming Stiles down every night. Honestly, he was shocked that someone had actually seen him. He was usually much better than that, but something about Stiles' panic made him forget about everything else.

"I don't know!" Stiles yelled, his tone utterly exasperated. "I don't understand _anything_ you do! You act like you hate me, but you talked me through a panic attack and got me home safely. You've saved my life more than I want to think about, but then you turn around and act like a _total dick!_ I just want to know if you've been in my house this week. You don't even have to tell me why."

"I have no reason to watch you sleep." Turning away and dismissing the conversation, Derek stalked back into the depths of the depot. He knew that his betas were listening in, and that they could probably tell he was lying; if they knew what was good for them, though, they wouldn't say a thing about it.

He heard Stiles slam his way out of the building, his fury leaving an acrid smell behind. He wasn't entirely sure why he couldn't have just _told_ Stiles why he'd been looking healthier over the past few days, but that wasn't his style.

Derek just wasn't ready to admit that he was helping Stiles, and deal with all the other issues that would be brought to light by that fact.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek would never have pegged himself as a masochist after everything Kate had done to him, but there was no other reason why he would be voluntarily torturing himself so much.

He knew how Stiles worked: now that the teen was suspicious of what was happening during the nights, he probably had a camera or something set up to try and catch Derek in the act. On top of that, the sheriff somehow knew what had been happening, and the last thing Derek wanted was to be the state's most wanted man again.

That was why he had spent the last few nights in the woods a few streets away from the Stilinski house. It was quiet enough in the early hours that, with a lot of concentration, Derek could hear and smell when Stiles was having a nightmare.

He _knew_. He knew that his pack member was in pain, but he was consciously deciding not to help. And for what? To uphold some ridiculous sense of _pride? _To stop people from learning that under the layers of anger and loss, there were the remnants of real emotions?

Derek knew he was fucked up. That wasn't a secret to anyone, but he hadn't realised that he had become a bad enough person to allow someone under his protection to _suffer_. He was being a selfish little prick…no, it was worse than that.

He was being _Kate_, standing by and watching while innocent people were destroyed. It didn't matter that he wasn't the one directly causing Stiles' pain, because it was just as bad for him to know that he could be doing something to help, only to choose to stay away.

He couldn't keep this up. As an Alpha, his own needs had to come second to those of the pack. It was something that Laura had been taught over and over again, while their father was priming her to take over for him. Derek knew that his sister would've been up there in Stiles' room, painstakingly helping him work through each and every issue he had.

Laura wouldn't have been scared of letting someone in enough to have them open up to her.

Feeling his claws break the skin of his clenched palm, Derek flexed out his fingers and focused on breathing calmly. He would never be half the Alpha Laura had been, but he could damn well _try_.

And the first step was to stop giving a shit about his heartless reputation, sneak into the Stilinski house without anyone noticing, and calm that poor kid down so that he didn't die from sleep deprivation.

Pushing off the tree he had been leaning against, Derek started walking towards the house. His outwardly confident stride didn't even _slightly_ reflect his swirling emotions, but he forced all that back. He'd been improving as an Alpha, but the past few nights had shown him that he still had a long way to go before his pack could look up to him.

He'd never be perfect, but there was a chance that he could be _good enough_.

* * *

Scott was _furious_.

After the interesting little chat he'd had with Derek, he'd noticed that Stiles had been getting visibly better. Scott had tried his best to get Stiles to talk to him about what Derek had done to help him, but his best friend had just avoided the topic and started babbling about the _weirdest _shit.

Not that there was anything particularly surprising about that.

And then Stiles' progress had just stopped, before the poor guy started getting worse again. The makeup had made a reappearance that day, and Scott was going to find out exactly what Derek had done wrong so that he could fix it.

Admittedly, Scott was surprised when Derek's scent, clouded by self-pity and pain rather than the usual blank anger, had led him right to Stiles' house. The sheriff was on night shift, and so Scott didn't worry about being caught as he scouted around the building.

He found Derek beneath Stiles' window, leaning casually against the side of the house as he eyed Scott warily.

"What the _fuck_ did you do?"

Derek didn't even bother pretending not to know what Scott was talking about, and the younger shifter could sense the anger that the alpha was now putting out. Thanks to Derek's training, though, Scott could tell that the emotion wasn't being aimed at him.

"I didn't do _anything_," Derek growled. Then, quieter, he continued, "and that's the problem."

Barely able to stop himself from shifting, Scott took a threatening step towards Derek, only _just_ able to ignore the urge to submit to his Alpha. "Stiles is _my_ best friend, and obviously you've been useless at helping him. I don't give a shit if you're my Alpha, I just want you to get out of here and _stop hurting him!_"

Standing up straight, Derek's eyes flashed red but his features remained completely human. "I'm not going to do that."

"He's not even part of your pack, Derek. He's human, and he's _hurting_. I don't want you near him." Scott was proud of himself, for standing up to his Alpha, for controlling the shift that was threatening to happen, and for keeping his voice low enough to not disturb anyone.

Derek didn't seem to see the achievement there. "You don't want me near him. Well, _I_ don't want _you_ near that Argent girl, but I decided to step back and let you do what you wanted."

As happened during most of the conversations he had with Derek, Scott was getting more and more confused. "What does Allison have to do with this? I love Allison, and Stiles is my best friend. If anything, you should be trusting my judgement on _him_, too."

"Because you're _such_ a good friend. You didn't even know that he was hurting until I told you."

Scott wasn't sure why Derek was fighting him so hard on this. The Alpha had never given a shit about anyone other than himself and his own power, so why was he suddenly caring _now_?

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh, but Scott didn't care. All he wanted to do was stop Derek from hurting Stiles any more than he already had.

"Well, I'm sorry for having more to think about than _sitting around sulking_ and _hurting innocent humans!" _Scott knew he'd made a mistake the moment he finished talking a little louder than he should have been, and that was only confirmed when Derek stiffened. The alpha didn't immediately make to tear Scott's throat out, but that wasn't a reassurance as the man turned towards the window.

The window that Stiles was leaning out of, glaring angrily at the pair in his yard.

"Uh, hey, Stiles…" Scott tried, smiling innocently. His exhausted-looking friend wasn't fooled.

"Go home, Scott. I need to talk to _Derek_." The name was spat out with so much venom that Scott was _almost_ a little more worried for the Alpha's safety than the human's. He was reluctant to leave the two alone for god knows what reason, but when Derek turned back to him and repeated the command, it was laced with too much Alpha power for the young werewolf to ignore.

"Call me whenever you need to," Scott said to his best friend, reluctantly starting to walk away. His enhanced hearing easily caught Stiles telling Derek to get inside, making sure to specify that he was to use the front door for once, and the sound of the window slamming shut.

Derek would know if Scott stayed nearby to eavesdrop, and he knew that the Alpha would happily dob him in to Stiles, so he slowly made his way back to his own house. He didn't want to leave his friend with an angry werewolf, but he didn't have a choice.

He was _so_ not happy with Derek right now.

* * *

Stiles sat in his desk chair, glaring angrily up at the werewolf brooding in the corner of his room.

"The hell were you two doing out there? You woke me up, you probably woke the whole goddamn neighbourhood up, and the chances of my dad not hearing about this are so slim they're pretty much nonexistent. So are you going to tell me _why_ you were arguing with my best friend outside my house at three in the morning? Or are you just going to stand there and be an obstinate bastard?"

"Scott is a bad friend," Derek muttered grumpily, making Stiles roll his eyes.

"I don't think it's up to you to decide who I should be friends with. We can't all be like you, moping through life without making actual emotional connections to anyone." Stiles was too tired for this. He'd stopped sleeping properly, and had only managed to crash about half an hour before the werewolves had come and woken him up.

"He didn't know that you've stopped sleeping."

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and eyed Derek suspiciously. "And how do _you_ know that?"

Derek looked uneasy, his eyes darting towards the window, and for a moment Stiles thought that he was going to escape. However, after a few seconds of silence, he just turned his head towards the wall so that Stiles could only see his profile.

"I can hear you panicking at night. Makeup is obvious to a werewolf's eyes. I can _smell_ your exhaustion." Stiles really wasn't surprised: he had no privacy, no secrets now that he was spending most of his time with shifters. If he was really honest with himself, he _was_ actually a little surprised that no one had brought it up until now.

"So why do you suddenly care? I've been dealing with this myself, and I'll _keep_ dealing with it myself. I don't need help with everything, okay? I'm not totally useless, even if I am just a human."

As if he was struggling with something, Derek opened and closed his mouth several times. His eyes were still firmly fixed on the wall in front of him, even when he eventually decided to speak. "My mother…she used to help my younger cousins get through their own nightmares. I couldn't let a pack member suffer for no reason…she would have been disappointed in me."

Stiles' anger stuttered to a halt, replaced instead by sympathy. He couldn't even find it in himself to be mad about Derek basically admitting to having been in his room that week, because the man _never _spoke about his family. If there was _anything _that Stiles had in common with him, it was knowing how hard it could be to try and make a deceased mother proud.

"I hardly ever get more than three hours of sleep a night." The admission rolled off of Stiles' tongue, the exhausted boy barely conscious of what he was saying. "I see the Alpha pack tearing you guys almost to shreds. I see the _insanity_ in Argent's eyes as he beat me black and blue. I see the mechanic, begging for his life as he died, and all I could do was watch. I see my _mom_. Did you know that it was my fault she died? She saved me by letting the car hit her."

Derek still wasn't looking at Stiles, but his fists were clenching by his sides. Unsurprisingly, he didn't come out with any empty words of sympathy, any half-baked efforts to try and release some of Stiles' guilt; and that actually made the teenager feel better than any gruff speech could.

Drained by his frantic emotions, Stiles didn't say anything else as he slowly stood up, crawling into bed to try and chase what little sleep he could. The bedroom light flicked off and left the room in darkness, and Stiles twitched as a large hand lightly ran across his hair.

"You need to sleep too, Derek," the teen mumbled quietly.

"I don't need as much sleep as a human."

Stiles closed his eyes, curling up on the far side of the bed. "Just get in."

The tension in the room rose, but it dipped when the mattress did. Stiles felt a soft Henley and worn denim press against his back, a strong arm falling warmly across his waist.

For once, Stiles fell asleep without seeing vivid images of death and destruction.

When he woke up to the sound of his alarm the next morning, Derek was gone. Stiles wasn't actually sure whether the Alpha had ever actually been there, but he didn't care. For once, he actually felt like he could get up and face the day. So he did.

When he got home from school, though, there was a neatly-written list of names and numbers sitting on his desk. At the bottom of the page was a messier-looking note, obviously scratched with a half-broken pen.

_'I asked Deaton for any psychologists who know about us. You need to talk to someone, and I can help you with the cost.'_

At a little after eleven o'clock that night, Stiles turned away from his computer to find Derek laying in his bed, patiently waiting until Stiles needed him.


End file.
